


Skin Deep

by FrozenMemories



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Foreplay?, M/M, Sentimental fluff, Softness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:54:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26917699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrozenMemories/pseuds/FrozenMemories
Summary: Mapping out the scars scattered across Nathan's skin has become a sort of routine over the years.
Relationships: Eric Jackson/Nathan Miller
Comments: 7
Kudos: 12





	Skin Deep

Mapping out the scars scattered across Nathan's skin has become a sort of routine over the years. As his lover and his doctor Jackson is intimately familiar with each of them, has even been present when some of them were acquired, and has watched over the healing progress of most.

To him, each mark is attached to a memory. There are the two small puncture wounds from the Mountain Men's dialysis port. They were the first Jackson ever treated Nate as a patient for. He lets his fingers gently glide over the spot above Nate's clavicle before he leans down to kiss it.

He slowly proceeds down his chest, fingers finding the long, sleek cut, embedded in tiny stitch marks, that runs below his ribcage. He remembers the first time his boyfriend got seriously injured in the bunker, remembers the blood gushing over Nathan's smooth skin, and how it made his own gut twist. He remembers Nate's lopsided smile, as he bravely grit his teeth while Jackson stitched him up carefully.

He gives the faded pink mark the same treatment as the first, then looks up to see Nate smiling down at him. One of his hands rakes through Jackson’s hair and comes to rest at the nape of his neck. He huffs briefly and lets Jackson continue.

Jackson runs his hands down Nathan's arms, stopping over the dark gash along his bicep. This is where he always falters because this is the scar he inflicted upon Nathan himself. Not that he was himself in that moment; his memories are foggy and distorted but he can still see the sharp blade in his hand. He can still feel the rush of adrenaline, the red sun toxin convincing him Nate’s body had been invaded by alien bugs.

He takes his time kissing every millimeter of the marred skin, swallowing the urge to apologize again because he knows it would lead into the same old argument they’ve had a dozen times. Nate doesn’t blame him, if anything he’d wanted him to cut the damn bugs out – even if they turned out to be a shared hallucination.

Moving on, his fingers slide past another battle scar Nate has on his left forearm. He bends to kiss it and rubs over the small ridge. It’s insignificant in comparison to all the others, but Jackson can’t help the notion that it’s one of the most appealing marks Nate sports. He’s always been attracted to strong forearms, maybe it’s just that.

His fingers walk back up until they reach Nate's shoulder. There's a faded, jagged one there that Nate told him stemmed from a grounder attack in his early days on Earth. Jackson remembers the first time he kissed it. The small near-whimper it drew from Nate when he ran his tongue across the uneven, discolored patch of sensitive skin.

Repeating the action now, he receives a similar reaction. Nate sounds appreciative yet impatient. He still has his hand on the back of Jackson's head, gently urging him along his habitual path across his body.

Pulling back, Jackson searches for Nate's eyes again, warm and trusting and just slightly amused. He breaks his trek for a quick taste of soft lips, then dips his head down to cover the small scar on Nate’s chin that he keeps hidden beneath dark facial hair. Another memory from their time in the bunker: Nathan breaking up a fight between two former members of different clans who found it hard to adjust to being united as _Wonkru._

It wasn’t a serious injury by far but it bled relentlessly and Nate was soaked red by the time he arrived at medical that day.

Jackson lets his thumb brush along the curve of Nathan’s chin as the images of pressing gauze to the spot flash past. He gently pecks it one more time for good measure, enjoying how Nathan’s face scrunches up at the treatment, barely resisting rolling his eyes. He knows his boyfriend is only patiently indulging him because he knows how much this ritual means to Jackson.

He smiles as his eyes zero in on his next stop. In the weak gleam of their bed light lantern he can barely make out the small faded pit at his left temple, just below his hairline, where a nine year old Nate hit his head on a bulkhead while romping around the Ark. He knows exactly where it’s located though, and his lips would even find it in the dark.

Closing his eyes, he recalls the expression on Nate’s face when he told him the story of his father being so torn between reprimanding and consoling his boy that he almost rushed them past medical. How long it had taken David to calm him down enough to get treated, once he realized he’d completely drenched his dad in blood. How scared he’d been of the surgical glue, fearing it would seep into his brain and turn him into a zombie.

Back then Jackson hadn’t been old enough to start his own medical training but he sure wished he could have been witness to the scene.

Nate tugs at his hair impatiently but doesn’t say anything.

Jackson lingers for another moment, lips soothing over Nathan’s face, while he lets his hands trace invisible lines down his boyfriend’s front. He stops when his fingertips find the soft indentation of regenerated tissue, just inches beside Nate’s navel.

The desert. Warzone. Nate raving and ranting, ignoring the bleeding wound in his abdomen. Nate collapsing into his arms. The sinking feeling that overwhelmed him when Niylah told him they were out of supplies. It’s a giant blur inside his head, the switch from concerned boyfriend to professional medic.

His lips have caught up with his hands and he breathes into Nathan’s soft skin, lips pressed tightly to the remainder of the almost lethal bullet wound.

He’d literally retrieved the projectile and stopped the bleeding with his bare hands, suturing the opening with his very last thread. There hadn’t been time to hover by Nathan’s side, too many wounded still needed his attention in the middle of the battle field. But when he’d finally caught a break he’d laid his head down on Nate’s shoulder and his hand upon his chest, making sure to observe the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

It takes a moment to shake the images and regain his calm. He keeps kissing around the scar, then lets his fingers trace its edges as he slowly sits back on Nathan’s legs. For the next one he has to remove more clothes and Nate offers him an anticipatory smirk when his fingers find the button of his pants.

He lifts his hips, strong enough to lift Jackson up with him, and nudges at his hands.

“C’mon Jacks,” he groans, the first real sound he’s made apart from soft growls and sighs.

Jackson slides the fabric down his legs swiftly and throws it behind him. Then he grabs at Nathan’s ankle and lets his thumb brush over its inside, then up the back of his calf, right to the spot where a bullet grazed his leg in the battle at the gorge.

“Not that one,” Nate protests and pulls his leg up just as Jackson leans down to touch his lips to it. He finds the angle it puts him in awkward and Jackson can respect that, even though he keeps trying for it every now and then. He kisses Nate’s unmarred knee instead and switches legs. The outside of Nate’s strong thigh is marked by a large diagonal cut, left behind by a well-edged sword.

Another day in the bunker, another fight that had to be interrupted by Blodreina’s head guard.

Nathan is growing restless beneath him, twitching and tugging at his arms to beckon him up.

“Roll over,” Jackson gently commands, intent on moving on to the scar below Nathan's shoulder blade, a token from fighting ALIE’s army in Polis. An army Jackson is still ashamed to admit he was a part of.

Nate groans but does as he’s told, knowing full well where Jackson is headed.

“I should have let that bullet from the gorge graze my ass instead of my leg,” he grumbles as he flops down on his front, “Maybe I can remedy that somehow.”

Jackson grins and leans into the shoulder scar.

“Don’t you dare!” He growls right back into Nate’s skin, “Your ass is flawless and I’d like to keep it that way.”

“It is, huh?” Nate asks, wriggling the body part in question. “It sure feels left out a little.”

Jackson grins and shakes his head. With a final kiss to the last mark he sits back up and lets his eyes roam across Nate’s bare skin. Time to let go of his reminiscing and move forward, he decides.

“I’m sorry,” he says sweetly and playfully smacks his hands against each cheek, letting them rest there and squeezing a bit.

“Let me make that up to you.”


End file.
